Somewhere along the way I became a spectator. I think it happened when my belly began to swell with a baby for the first time.
“Oh, I can’t go skiing. I’m pregnant.”
“No thanks, I’ll pass on the wake-boarding; I’ve got to feed the baby.”
“I’ll just sit here and rest while you guys for for a hike. I’m tired from being up all night.”
And I was. So tired. For so long. And I got used to sitting and watching instead of doing and living.
My life wasn’t bad, and I was surrounded by people who loved me and a family I was so thankful for, but I had faded a bit.
In the past year, though, I’ve been rewriting the chapters I’m given, giving the plot a little more of an arc. I’ve been getting in the water and letting a boat drag me though its wake, I’ve been hiking to the tops of mountains and jumping into pools with all my clothes on, and I’ve been climbing to the top of telephone poles and leaping off with all my might to reach a dangling trapeze.
And it feels so good, living these moments to their fullest and adding life to the story.